


Final Offering

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [31]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glory is preparing for her return home while a ragtag army prepares to fight her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the events of the episode The Gift. The words of the most wise and noble Joss Whedon are taken and restructured with all due reverence to the original text. 
> 
> Written by Sadbhyl, beta'd by Mydeira

Joyce sat in the corner looking very small and unsure. Ethan kept glancing over at her as he and Rupert worked on the translation of the scrolls Spike and Xander had liberated.

“Are you sure about this tense?” Rupert asked abstractedly.

Ethan shoved the notebook back at him impatiently. “Rupert, you know my Etruscan always was better than yours. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself.”

Rupert took his glasses off to glare sternly at Ethan. “This passage relates to the timing of the ritual. It’s a crucial piece of information, so I would appreciate it if you would double check the bloody conjugation.”

Ethan sighed and pulled the notebook closer. “It still seems to me it would be easier just to run.”

“That’s what I said,” the demon girl grumbled, her chin in her hand. “But nobody listens to me.”

“There’s no place you could run that would be far enough,” Rupert replied distractedly. “If these documents are right . . .”

The training room door opened and the Slayer came in silently.

“Something goin' on out back?” the boy asked, looking up from the reference he was going through at Rupert’s request.

She just shrugged. “Vampire. Anything?”

Rupert didn’t meet her eyes. “Nothing you want to hear. The ritual is, uh...”

“Explain it again.”

“There's nothing new to . . .”

There was steel in her voice this time. “Go through it again.”

They all dropped their gaze, looking away from the Slayer, as though simply meeting her eyes would provoke her.

Finally Rupert looked up from his notes, still not quite looking at the Slayer. “The key was ... living energy. It needed to be channeled, poured into a specific place at a specific time. The energy ... would flow into that spot, the walls between the dimensions break down. It stops, the energy's used up, and the walls come back up. Glory uses that time to get back into her own dimension, not caring that all manner of hell will be unleashed on earth in the meantime.”

The Slayer’s expression remained unchanged.

“But only for a little while, right?” the demoness interjected. “The walls come back up, and no more hell?”

The red haired witch was the one to answer. “That's only if the energy is stopped. And now the key is human,” she hesitated, glancing up at the Slayer. “. . . is Dawn.”

Rupert read grimly from the transcription in front of him. “‘The blood flows, the gates will open. The gates will close when it flows no more.’” He took his glasses off, finally looking at his charge directly. “When Dawn is dead.”

Ethan didn’t think he was the only one to hear Joyce’s soft whimper.

“I have places to be!” the blonde witch, Tara, burst out.

Everyone turned to her in surprise, but she lapsed back into silence, unaware of the tension around her.

“Why blood?” the boy asked in frustration. “Why Dawn's blood? I mean, why couldn't it be like a, a lymph ritual?”

“Cuz it's always got to be blood,” the vampire supplied.

“We're not actually discussing dinner right now,” the boy replied snidely.

“Blood is life, lackbrain. Why do you think we eat it? It's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead.” He hesitated. “Course it's her blood.”

“Pretty simple math here,” the Slayer stated, disregarding the spat among her compatriots. “We stop Glory before she can start the ritual. We still have a couple of hours, right?”

Rupert nodded. “If my calculations are right. But Buffy . . .”

She turned away. “I don't want to hear it.”

“I understand that . . .”

“No! No, you don't understand. We are not talking about this.”

Rupert rose from the table in all his Ripper glory. “Yes, we bloody well are!”

The room froze in shock at the violence of his outburst.

He continued in a gentler tone. “If Glory begins the ritual ... if we can't stop her...” He faded out.

But suitably baited, the Slayer wouldn’t let it lie. “Come on. Say it. We're bloody well talking about this. Tell me to kill my sister.”

Ethan could remain silent no longer. “She's not your sister.”

The Slayer just looked at him, an expression of pity and loathing. “No. She's not. She's more than that. She's me. The monks made her out of me. I hold her . . . and I feel closer to her than . . . ” She hesitated. “It's not just the memories they built. It's physical. Dawn ... is a part of me. The only part that I . . .”

She stopped, for so long that the redhead stepped up to her, resting a hand on her arm. “We'll solve this. We will. Don't have another coma, okay?”

The question seemed to cut through the Slayer’s rage, and she smiled softly.

But Ethan couldn’t let it go. “If the ritual starts, then every living creature in this and every other dimension imaginable will suffer unbearable torment and death . . . including Dawn.”

The Slayer’s eyes burned with determination. “Then the last thing she'll see is me protecting her.”

“You'll fail. You'll die. We all will.”

“I'm sorry.” She looked away from him, meeting the eyes of all her friends. “I love you all ... but I'm sorry.”

Ethan crossed his arms and leaned back, impatient as the others began brainstorming ideas for dealing with the Beast. Desperate ideas from a dying people. Then he glanced at Joyce, and saw her listening avidly, latching on to each suggestion with the frantic need to save her daughters. Ethan could save all of them, reach out his hand and stop the girl’s heart and save the world in an instant. But they didn’t want to hear it. Although judging by the bleak look in Rupert’s eyes, he was fast approaching it. Ripper could be as pragmatic as Ethan when the situation called for it, but it always took its toll on Rupert’s soul.

He was distracted from his reverie by the Slayer wielding a heavy battle hammer with grim confidence. “But we still have no idea how to find her.”

“Big day!” you Tara cried out in her delirium. “It calls me! I have to be there!”

They all looked at her, then turned slowly to Buffy, whose eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Finally, she nodded.

They had their link to Glory.

 

 

The others had all dispersed. The ex-demon and her boy were down in the basement, ostensibly searching for the Dagon sphere, although Ethan had his suspicions, knowing the girl’s proclivities. Rupert had gone back into the training space to try to prepare the Slayer for what he knew she was going to have to face. The vampire hadn’t moved from his seat on the stairs, lost in whatever realm his mind took him to. The witches were back near Rupert’s desk, the redhead working diligently on some project while Tara toyed with a shiny chain of paper clips.

Ethan only had eyes for Joyce.

She sat at the table now, her head bent and resting on her palms, her elbows set on her knees. Her body trembled now and then, but Ethan could tell she wasn’t crying, albeit through sheer dint of will. He moved over to sit behind her on the bench, pulling her into his arms to rest her head against his chest. He held her silently, stroking her hair, finding his own comfort in the soft contours of it against his palm and the warmth of her in the curve of his arm.

He would rather have stayed like this until the end, but of course reality pressed against them like a living thing, tearing away even this comfort.

“When I found out Buffy was the Slayer,” Joyce murmured, her rough voice muffled against his torso, “when I finally came to terms with it, a part of me thought, ‘at least Dawn’s safe. She’s not a part of this.’ We kept her out of it as much as we could. Although I think she may have known about Buffy before I did. But none of that was true, was it? She was never safe.”

“Joyce, you mustn’t think like that.”

She pulled back, her fierce eyes locking with his. “Why not? How else am I supposed to think, Ethan, when Rupert is laying out that Dawn is going to have to die to stop the ritual and you’re pointing out that my daughter isn’t real anyway and Buffy’s insisting on dying and taking everything with her to protect her sister?” An edge of hysteria crept into her voice, growing with each word. “Where’s the bright side, Ethan? Where is the positive outcome in any of this? Because I’m really not seeing it right now!”

He gripped her shoulders and pulled her back into his arms as she started shaking in rage, her hands balling up into fists. “My girl,” he crooned to her. “My dear, sweet, beautiful girl, aren’t you the one who keeps talking about faith? About having faith in people? Trust that. Trust in Buffy, and in Rupert. We have to prepare for the worst, but that doesn’t mean there’s no hope for the best.”

He felt like a hypocrite, encouraging her like this when he had no hope himself. But he couldn’t let her suffer like this when a few pretty lies would ease her passing. And wasn’t lying what he was best at?

Joyce resisted his hold for a moment before succumbing, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “The best would be for Dawn to walk through that door right now.”

“Ah, well, that unfortunately is beyond the reach of even the greatest optimist. But you’ll see. The Slayer will swoop down, stop the ritual at its most critical moment and rescue fair maiden, thus making the world safe once again for all the good little girls and boys.”

She lifted her head. “Do you really believe that?”

He met her eyes, unable to lie to her.

Buffy’s return spared him having to answer. Without looking at anyone, she crossed the room silently to crouch near the witches. Rupert followed her a few moments later, his face lined in thought as he slipped his glasses back on his face.

Ethan kissed Joyce’s forehead and slipped out of her arms. “I’ll be right back,” he promised before moving towards Rupert. “How did it go?” he asked quietly.

Never taking his eyes off his charge, Rupert shrugged. “I think she’ll do what needs to be done. Beyond that I can’t really say.”

“I don’t know that Joyce is faring much better.”

The look Rupert shot her was full of pain, but his words remained realistic. “We can’t dwell on that now. We just have to get through this and deal with the repercussions afterwards.”

“You’re incredibly sexy when you’re pragmatic, have I ever told you that?”

Rupert glared at him. “Now isn’t the time.” He glanced over at Joyce, who was now talking quietly with Spike. “She’s not going to want to stay behind.”

“No,” Ethan agreed, following Rupert’s gaze. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of her.”

Rupert turned back to him, studying him critically. “Are you up for this?”

“Have to be, don’t I?” Ethan shrugged. “I won’t be able to pull any of the tricks like I used on Cassandra. I’m not back to full power from that yet, and we don’t have time for me to prepare. But I can do seat-of-the-pants offensive and protection spells, enough to keep your little groupies safe.”

Speaking of groupies, the demon and the boy returned, handing Rupert a glowing sphere the size and color of a grapefruit. “One Dagon sphere, as you requested,” the boy said with a flourish. “Sorry, Giles, we didn’t find anything else useful down there.”

“Although we spent a great deal of time looking,” the demon girl insisted. But something in her look told Ethan more had happened in that basement than just comfort sex.

“What we really need,” the boy added, “is another Slayer. Or twelve.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately there’s only one other, and even presuming we had enough time to drive to LA and secure her release, I’m not sure I’d trust Faith to remain on our side for very long.”

But the suggestion had started wheels turning in Ethan’s head. “Perhaps we don’t have another real Slayer, but what about a remarkably similar substitute?”

Rupert turned to him. “What did you have in mind?”

“That bitch Cassandra isn’t the only one who can create simulacrums. It would take a lot of my energy to do, but I could create a duplicate of your Slayer that you wouldn’t be able to tell from the real thing.”

“Glory would be able to, as soon as she got her hands on it.”

Ethan took the Dagon sphere from Rupert’s hand, holding it up to him. “Then we don’t let her get that close.”

Rupert’s eyes narrowed as he weighed all the variables before calling, “Buffy.”

The Slayer looked up from where she knelt near the girls. She said something softly to the redhead, then rose to her feet to join them. “What is it?”

“Ethan’s had an idea that might be helpful,” Rupert explained. “He can create a doppelganger of you for the initial confrontation with Glory. It won’t be as powerful or as skilled as you are, but we think with the aid of the Dagon sphere . . .”

“No, no, that’s good.” The Slayer turned her calculating eyes to Ethan. “Thank you.”

“The less I have to create, the better,” he said to her, “so anything you can give me . . .”

“Way ahead of you,” she replied as Spike and Joyce joined them. “Do we have time?” she asked Rupert.

“If you hurry.”

Joyce rested her hand on Ethan’s arm, drawing his attention from the nervous bickering between the others. “Good news?” she asked hopefully.

“Another weapon for the arsenal,” he corrected her. “And the beginnings of a strategy. Every little bit helps, right?”

She smiled faintly at his forced optimism. But as the Slayer and the vampire left the shop, her expression dimmed. He knew she was too smart to think that anything short of a miracle would help them now.

 

 

Ethan had gathered the components he would need for the simulacrum summoning. Rupert was combing through the scrolls again in search of any last detail they might not have dug out the first dozen times. Joyce merely paced.

They all spun when the door jangled open to admit the Slayer and her pet vampire. The Slayer looked as grim as ever, but Ethan noticed the faintest trace of coral lipstick on the vampire’s mouth and along his jaw. So the girl hadn’t been all business.

“We on schedule?” she asked Rupert, back to her focused self as the others joined her in the middle of the floor. Ethan stuffed his spell elements into his pockets and came around the counter.

Rupert was looking over the selection of weaponry the vampire had with him, but stopped to meet her gaze. “Yes, it’s time.”

“Will?”

They all hesitated, waiting to see what would happen.

Her eyes grim but her mouth barely smiling, the redhead went to her lover. “Tara, baby? Is there someplace you should be?”

The girl looked up in confusion, her eyes finally settling on Buffy. “They held me down.”

“No one’s holding you now. It’s the big day, isn’t it?” When Tara made no effort to move, she tried again. “Do you want to go?”

Tara looked from her lover to the Slayer and slowly began moving towards the door. She paused as she came in line with Ethan, her eyes clearing, narrowing as she looked at him. “You’re a killer,” she pronounced emphatically. Then the clarity faded and she began shambling towards the door once more. “But it doesn’t matter. This is all set down.”

He glanced at Rupert, catching his eye to cock an eyebrow in acknowledgement of her insight. Rupert just shrugged.

The two girls disappeared through the door.

Joyce stepped forward, picking a nasty edged machete up off the desk silently.

“No,” the Slayer said flatly.

“My daughters need my help. I’m not sitting home being useless.”

“Mom, I’ve got too much else to do, I can’t be distracted protecting you, too.”

“So don’t. Let me protect you for a change.”

The Slayer looked to Rupert in supplication, who in turn looked to Ethan, bowing his head subtly.

Acknowledging the signal, Ethan moved up behind her, resting his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. “Joyce,” he said softly, sending a gentle surge of energy through her.

She sagged almost imperceptibly. Rupert took the blade out of her limp hand as Ethan caught her body, lifting her up into his arms. He carried her over to a pile of pillows on the dais and lay her down gently. When he stood again, he found the Slayer watching him. “She’s just asleep. She’ll stay that way for several hours. If things don’t go in our favor, well, she won’t feel anything.”

The Slayer said nothing, but instead simply nodded. She turned to face the others. “Everybody knows their jobs. Remember, the ritual starts, we all die. And I’ll kill anyone who comes near Dawn.”

She turned and walked out the door.

“Well,” the vampire said, watching her go, “not exactly the St. Crispin’s Day speech, was it?”

Rupert grimaced, lifting the bag of weapons to follow her. “We few, we happy few.”

“We band of buggered.”

Ethan found he liked the Cervantes allusions better.

 

 

It was a long walk.

They almost actually caught up with the witches before long. Tara seemed drawn to Glory, but didn’t seem able to follow a straight line to her. They wended their way finally into the industrial part of town, closer to the rail yard than the port, but convenient to neither. This was where the automotive mechanics and the scrap yards made their home.

And apparently where the door to a god’s dimension lay.

They all paused, staring up at the enormous, erratic structure rising up over the buildings, taller than anything else in Sunnydale.

“Shpadoinkle,” the boy said in awe.

“What _is_ that?” asked the demon girl.

Rupert didn’t take his eyes off it, studying and assessing it as he tightened his grip on the axe in his hand. “The portal must open up there.”

“Ethan,” the Slayer said tensely, loading command into that one word.

He nodded and pulled the components out of his pocket, chanting softly so as not to attract attention. He heard her behind him, issuing orders to the witch, but paid it no mind as he focused on visualizing the simulacrum. A strand of the Slayer’s hair and a final push of will and she was standing there in front of him, a near perfect replica of the Slayer. Completely naked.

It showed the measure of focus in the group that no one noticed or cared.

The demon girl was there instantly with the backpack the Slayer had brought from the house, offering the clothing inside to the duplicate while Ethan set its behavior parameters. Goad. Distract. Avoid contact, but keep as close as possible with the sphere. Keep Glory off center as long as it could. Defend itself. Now properly dressed, it nodded confirmation and took the Dagon sphere from him, moving to take its place in the confrontation.

It hesitated as it passed the Slayer, then burst into a brilliant smile. “We’re very pretty, aren’t we?”

“Uh.” The Slayer looked from it to Ethan as the simulacrum continued on its way.

He shrugged unapologetically, still weak from the energy expenditure in making it. “I couldn’t possibly have made it as morose as you, so I didn’t even try.”

There was a scream of agony from inside the enclosure, and a flash of white light.

“It’s started. Go,” she commanded. And like hounds released from their leads they went, all but the boy surging through the bent gate to confront the enemies within.

“Enemies” might have been an exaggeration. The drones being sent against them were hardly adequate adversaries. Ethan didn’t have Ripper’s skills as a street brawler, but even he was able to hold his own against them. He was forced to rely on brute strength, his energy levels sorely depleted, but while his muscles burned from the exertion, he seemed to be holding his own.

Until the attendants joined in.

Those little gnomes were fierce, driving them back, driving the drones on, overwhelming them by sheer numbers.

Suddenly Ethan felt a pop and a release, as though a thread in his center had been cut. The simulacrum was destroyed.

He glanced over to where it had been fighting to see the beautiful god standing over the puddle of green goo in amazement.

“Did everybody else know the Slayer was a fake?”

And then she went flying through the air to crash into the wall.

“You really aren’t the brightest god in the heavens, are you?” Buffy’s voice came maliciously.

“Buffy!”

Dawn’s high, panicked voice drew everyone’s eyes skyward. The Slayer was instantly in motion, breaking towards the base of the tower. Glory struggled to her feet and chased after her.

The battle on the ground escalated, distracting them from the brutal struggle taking place on the scaffolding. Ethan lost track of them as he fended off more and more of the drones and attendants. They seemed to bubble out from nowhere like roaches, driving them back from the base of the tower despite their best efforts.

There were screams of panic as a wrecking ball smashed the wall, sending the drones scrambling and giving Ethan and the others a chance to scramble back to the relative safety of the construction. He saw Rupert on the other side of the battlefield, distracted by his Slayer’s private battle.

Ethan hunkered down with the others behind the rubble, waiting for an opening.

Spike cocked his head, then looked up. “Yeah,” he said to an unheard question. “Can’t tell who.”

“Ethan,” the redheaded witch’s voice sounded in his head.

“That’s incredibly rude,” he chided her, responding in the same manner she used.

“We don’t have time. Help us clear a path to the tower for Spike.”

“Yes, mistress,” he said snidely, but studied the crowd before him, looking for weak spots.

“Yeah, but—” Spike replied to the voice now obviously speaking in his head.

“Go!” sounded loudly in both their heads.

Ethan lashed out with force at the same time Spike launched to his feet, racing across the now clear slab amidst the bodies tumbling aside around him. He flew up the stairs and disappeared into the scaffolding.

The sound of iron ringing when struck echoed through the enclosure, and Ethan saw Rupert rise to his feet, still focused on the struggle behind him. Ethan circled around, moving behind the children, avoiding the view of the Beast’s defenders to come closer to Rupert and the object of his attention.

He was surprised to see the girl crouched over a young man, bloodied and barely conscious, lying on the ground at her feet.

“Tell her it's over,” the Slayer said coldly. “She missed her shot. She goes. She ever, _ever_ comes near me and mine again. . .”

Ethan couldn’t hear the man’s response, but it seemed to satisfy the Slayer. She dropped the hammer and ran for the structure, not even noticing her mentor standing nearby.

Ethan recognized Rupert’s posture and moved closer to hear the exchange.

Only to have the vampire nearly fall on him.

Surprised, Ethan knelt beside the vampire’s crumpled body.

He rolled over, his blue eyes glazed in pain but still fierce. “Doc’s up there,” he forced out through his agony. “Working for Glory. Gotta stop him.”

“Slayer’s gone up there.”

But the vampire’s eyes were locked on the sky. “She’s not gonna make it.”

He turned to look up, his eyes catching on Rupert drawing his hand away from the young man’s lifeless mouth. He looked up and saw Ethan watching him. Ethan could see he was waiting for some word of criticism or reproof that Ethan just wasn’t prepared to make.

Instead he looked skyward again.

The Slayer should be up there by now. But all he could see was the girl and the dark figure standing in front of her.

The witches limped up to them. “Is it over?” one of them asked quietly as they both followed his gaze.

“Not yet.”

Ethan didn’t lower his eyes, so he was the first one to see the silvery blue-white cloud forming. He knew it was too late.

There was only one thing left to do, and he was the only one who could do it. But he didn’t have the power for it, spent as he was. No matter, he had enough living batteries around him. With a surge of his shoulders, he lashed out, sinking strands of energy into each of the witches and into Rupert, making them convulse at the force and surprise of it. He had no time for gentleness, instead sucking the magical strength from them with no finesse, his eyes darkening to a blazing black as he twisted and focused them within himself. The mana bolt he fired off shined incandescent as it sizzled up through the air like a Roman candle, taking everything he had and everything he had taken from them with it. They all collapsed to the ground, watching it fly aloft.

He missed.

A bare inch off true on the ground translated over that distance to more than two feet. Instead of striking the child, it flew wide, decimating her attacker instead. They could hear her scream of fear and pain even down here.

And then the Slayer was there, untying her, drawing her away from the abyss.

But by then the cloud of the portal had grown large enough to block the view. It was too late. He had failed. Now the Slayer was going to have to choose between her sister and humanity. Ethan didn’t like their odds.

The world around them trembled and changed as lightning lanced out from the portal. It continued growing like a mighty thunderhead, and all the warriors on the ground could do was watch in growing horror. The attendants had disappeared with the Beast’s death, leaving the drones to wander mindlessly from the battlefield, posing no threat now. All the threat seemed to be coming from above.

The lightning flashes continued, and with each Ethan could feel the changes they wrought, the chaos and damnation they created. The cloud belched and a colossal dragon erupted from it, flying at the tower before moving off with a scream of rage.

Then suddenly the cloud was writhing, surging and pulsing around . . . something. This was it. The portal was preparing to open fully, decimating all life on countless worlds. Ethan closed his eyes, remembered the comfort of being cradled between Joyce’s and Rupert’s warm bodies, and, holding tight to that image, prepared himself for the end.

It didn’t come.

After long moments he heard the heavy thunk of a soft weight falling from great height to collide with the ground nearby. Then all was silent. When he opened his eyes, the portal was gone.

The others were paying no heed to the tower anymore, though. Their eyes were all fastened to a point on the ground in the middle of the broken concrete slab that had been their battlefield. They all moved in that direction slowly, dreadfully, as though knowing what they would find.

Ethan hung back, watching them. This wasn’t a team united in victory. This wasn’t even grim acceptance. They were horrified, disbelieving.

He saw the Slayer’s broken body lying peacefully in death on the broken cement. And he understood.


End file.
